Rochester Ramblings

Well my friends, I found the folder that has my old poems and other mishmash in it. I took some of the stuff I wrote as Rochester and mixed it together into the following.
If only we could get inside his head.
:)
FYI - We enter the story shortly after the attempted wedding and Jane has left Thornfield...

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I cannot leave Thornfield. My prison has become the only balm for my wound. Jane’s spirit still lingers in this accursed place, giving it some redemptive value.
My mind knows that she has fled, but my heart still believes her to be near. There are times when I sit at my desk and I hear her light step advancing toward me in the hall. For one fleeting instant, I expect to see her shining face peer around the door. My heart leaps in my breast and I rise to greet her, my arms open to receive her in an embrace. But she does not appear.
I thought I knew what it was to suffer. I thought I had experienced pain beyond endurance. But what I fool I was then. I realize now that the suffering of self is nothing when compared to the knowledge that I have brought such pain upon the one person that I truly love. I think of her suffering and I fear for her with such intensity that I cannot draw a breath. My thoughts torment me every waking moment and even the night does not afford me any rest. I fall into restless sleep and wake several times before dawn, my pulse racing, my body drenched with sweat, as horrible dreams of her fate drive me into despair.
Last night this restlessness was stronger than ever and I gave up all hope of sleep. I roamed through the Hall, trying to find some peace for my mind through exertion of my body. I came to Adele’s room and saw that the door was ajar. An unseen force compelled me to step silently across the threshold. I made my way to the sleeping child and saw that Mrs.Fairfax had left a chair next to the small chest drawers beside the bed. I looked down and my eyes feel upon a slender volume of fairy tales, a bedtime storybook. It was well worn, a gift from Jane to Adele on her birthday. I recalled the many times I had seen them reading by the fire in the drawing room. No doubt this token of Jane’s affection was to be treasured as though it were made of gold.
I came to rest in the chair and observed Adele’s face for a few moments. It was immediately apparent to me that she had cried herself to sleep. Her little pink cheeks were tearstained and her pillow bore the evidence of those tears. A wave of sympathy came over me without warning. I suddenly felt as if Adele was Jane as a little girl with no father or mother and the person who had shown her some kindness had left her behind. I reached over to the bed and took her small hand in mine. Something inside me seemed to break lose. Tears flooded my eyes and a sob escaped my lips. I tried to force it down, but my resistance was no match for the emptiness in my soul. As my memories of Jane rushed forth, the emotions that I had kept locked inside for so long spilled over and I began to weep harshly and brokenly. My heart ached more with every beat.
I grasped Adele’s hand tightly and for some minutes I continued in this state until I felt her stir. She blinked a few times and looked at me. I was surprised to find that I was not ashamed, nor did I try to stop the tears. I looked in her eyes and saw instant comprehension and empathy. She drew herself from under the bed cover and without saying a word, climbed into my lap. She wiped my cheeks with the sleeve of her nightdress and I knew she was trying to be brave, but the quivering of her bottom lip did not escape my notice.
“I miss her, too,” came out in barely a whisper.
Her little arms went up and wrapped around my neck. I held onto her like a man drowning in a relentless stormy sea. Our tears flowed freely and mingled as one. We wept together, sharing the same grief